


my drabble collection

by void_glitter



Category: Disney Duck Universe, DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Multi, various tags and warnings are inside
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-20 02:33:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/void_glitter/pseuds/void_glitter
Summary: where the author dumps all of his drabbles





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HI YES HELLO. all of these are unfinished, unpolished, nonsense drabbles. they have various content warnings, which i will put before every chapter/drabble. i MIGHT finish some of these. maybe. some are closer to being full fics. several are in aus. most are sad.
> 
> this first one involves alcohol and implied sexy times, that's pretty much it.

Goldie wanders into the kitchen one late, late night. She woke curled up under Scrooge's arm, her head pillowed against his chest, warm and secure. And also, very thirsty and very sore.

Grumbling, she had wiggled away from her paramour to go get a drink and some pain medication. He had made a vague sound of dissent, trying to grab her around the waist again, but she had pushed him off and told him she'd be back soon. That had appeased him, and he had rolled over contently.

Smiling fondly, she had snuck out of the bedroom after grabbing her robe. She's not really tired enough to go back to sleep yet, so she'll walk around the house for a bit to make sure she can rest some more. She'd be loath to ignore the chance to snuggle...

Goldie yawns as she walks into the kitchen, trying her best to keep her footsteps soft. The mansion is a big place, but she'd hate to wake anyone with her little mission.

She pushes the door open with her shoulder, and is surprised that the lights are on. Well, one is-- the one above the stove. Someone's at the table, too, masked in shadow. She creeps in, not trying to be startling to whoever it is, and tiptoes towards the cabinets. She takes out a glass, and then begins to rummage around for painkillers. Where are they?

"Medicine's in the drawer by the sink." Donald says, voice abrupt. Goldie startles, hand jerking up to smack against the top of the drawer she's in. "Sorry. I--" A pause for a hiccup, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Goldie shakes off the scare, moving to the small, slim drawer next to the sink. "No, it's fine." Donald hums behind her, and she can hear him sip from a glass. "What are you doing up this late?"

"Drinking." He says, without pause or hesitation. Goldie hears ice clink against his teeth as he takes another long drink. "Don't let me keep you. I'm sure Uncle Scrooge is waiting." There's a certain venom in his raspy voice. His fingers tap irritably on the table.

Goldie opens the bottle of pain medication and pours three into her palm, curling her fingers over them as she goes to fill her glass. "So, let me guess, you got fired again?" She asks bluntly. "Or something like that?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that." Donald drawls, slowly, with no real emotional inflection. His voice is less raspy, right now, though just as odd-sounding.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no warnings apply, other than perhaps one (1) line that implies sexy times. it's scroldie, dude, idk what you expect.

Without looking up from his novel, or abandoning his cereal, Donald greets Goldie.

"G'morning, Aunt Goldie." He says, spooning another spoonful of marshmellows and oats into his mouth.

"Good morning, kid-- wait, what did you just call me?" The hand holding Goldie's coffee mug drops a handful of inches, and she stares at her partner's nephew with wide eyes. Surely, she just... misheard Donald? With his voice, it isn't too far-fetched--

"He said 'G'morning, Aunt Goldie'!" Della clarifies from next to him, kicking her feet under the thick wooden table as she bites into her toast. "Same here, by the way. Did you sleep well, Aunt Goldie?"

Goldie feels her face warm, her hands tremble, and her feathers ruffle. The twins giggle to themselves as she sets her coffee mug down with the delicacy of a bomb and stomps out to find Scrooge.

"Scrooge!" She yells, slamming his office door open. Scrooge is at the desk, sipping his tea, more looking out the window than working due to the early hour and his good mood. (Goldie isn't humble, she can admit that it's totally because of her being around, and the... exploits of last night.) "Your kids are trying to kill me!"

Scrooge smiles pleasantly at her, looking over the top of his glasses. "They're both endless nusiences, aren't they?" He says, with all the love in the world staining his voice. Goldie feels sickened by the sweetness he gets when he talks about them. "What're they doing now, hm? Bickering over breakfast? Squabbling over schoolwork? Arguing over adventure?" He chuckles, sitting back in his chair with his fingers laced atop his stomach.

Goldie rolls her eyes, coming up to slam her hands on the desk. Scrooge doesn't even have the decency to jump. "They're calling me their aunt, Scrooge." She says, through gritted teeth. "They both called me "Aunt Goldie" this morning."

If at all possible, Scrooge pales. "Oh-- well, I didn't think they were serious about that..." He says vaguely, waving a hand. "I'm sure if you asked, they'd... stop it. Probably. Hard to change their minds when they're set on somethin', though..."

Goldie's face feels hot, at his infuriating response. She taps her fingers on the top of the desk. "Why don't YOU tell them to stop? They have to listen to you!"

Scrooge laughs, that laugh that starts soft and grows into full-blown laughs. "Oh, Goldie, they hardly listen to me. They only did the whole 'listening to their uncle' thing when they were little." He wipes a stray tear from his left eye. "You can't exactly control those kids." 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no warnings apply, but it IS sad. set after della comes back.

Louie is sneaking down the hall in the middle of the night, intent on getting a glass of milk, when he passes his mom's room, and hears talking. It streams through the slightly open door.

"What do you _mean_, Donald never showed up?" Della's voice asks, and she sounds almost... broken. "Where has he been for the past week?"

"I don't have an answer for that, darling." Scrooge's voice, now, soft, quieter than Louie's heard it in a while.

Louie abandons his trip downstairs to tiptoe up to Della's door, and peeks through the gap in the door. Scrooge and Della are standing across from eachother, both silently sharing a tearful look. The room shows signs of abandoned relaxation-- the quilt on the bed is pulled back, a book is abandoned, and a half-full glass of milk sits next to a cookie with one bite taken out of it on the nightstand.

"What if something terrible happened to him?" Della asks, very quietly. And while Louie hasn't known her long, he knows it's almost definitely wrong for her to sound so _small_. "Uncle Scrooge, what if something terrible happened to him, r-right when I came back?" Her voice breaks, and Louie watches her cover her face with her hands.

Scrooge steps forward, wrapping his arms around his distraught niece. "If anyone can handle something terrible happening to them, it's Donald. I'll call around in the morning, get people looking, figure out where he is. I'm sure he's alright, Della."

Della leans her head on Scrooge's shoulder, bringing a hand up to grab at his arm. Silence reigns for a long moment.

"...promise?" Della asks, teary eyed, and Louie realized with a shock that she sounds like a _child_. Like she's no older than he is.

Scrooge runs his hand through Della's hair, humming softly. "I promise, dear. Your brother will be fine."

"You said that before, and he came home with two boyfriends." Della says in a mumble. "Hopefully it goes that way this time."

"Hopefully. Now, let's get you in bed. You need the rest."

Louie sneaks away from the door, a pit forming in his stomach.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this one before we got della back in the show. again, no real warnings apply, but it's not happy. also, there's a lot of implications of headcanons here because it's my fic and i do what i want.
> 
> (this is also the longest one so far YEAH. it's basically a whole fic but i have more i'd like to add to it sometime)

When Scrooge sees Della for the first time in ten years, he's startled by how young she still looks.

She's well into her thirties, by now, but... she could still pass for twenty-five. Her hair is long, tangled, the natural slight wave dragged down. Her eyes, a familiar shade of blue, don't show age save for the dark bags underneath.

And when she looks at him, wildness and sorrow trapped in her pupils, she might as well still be the six year old orphan he took her in as, for how scared and lost she looks.

She takes two steps forward, away from the twisted wreck of red and grey metal that used to be her ship. Her left foot clunks instead of slapping. His eyes dart down. It's metal, now. Her whole leg is.

His bill lifts with a bright grin. That's his Della-- fashioning her own leg from metal and scrap...

Behind him, the children crowd around. Dewey's closest, at Scrooge's left, a hand back to hold Louie's hand, the other out to hold onto Huey's arm, as if he might faint. Donald is at his uncle's right, a hand on his own, not holding but touching. Scrooge can feel him trembling.

Della blinks. Her head tips back, and her eyes close, as bright spring sunlight pours over her. She inhales deeply. Scrooge supposes this is one of her first true breaths of real air.

She's not in any sort of space suit, which is vaguely concerning. She's wearing a worn-out aviator jacket, the one Scrooge knows she's had for years even before the Spear, a torn up pair of pants, a ratty-looking undershirt, and of course, her scarf. It always went everywhere with her.

She steps forward a little more, looking at them now, almost looking confused. "I'm..." She starts, inhaling again. Her eyes lock on Donald, and they widen. "Donnie?" She asks, her voice weak, scratchy.

Donald's hand pulls away from Scrooge's own, and he walks a few feet forward, seemingly hesitant to go closer. Della's eyes well with tears, and she throws herself into a run, practically falling into Donald's arms. He wraps them around her tightly, practically lifting her off her feet.

Under her sobs, muffled by the shoulder of Donald's shirt, Scrooge can hear her chanting "I'm home, I'm home, I'm really home" in a desperate sort of way. Donald's hands card through Della's hair and he rocks her back and forth in his embrace, caught by his own sobs.

"You're home, you're home, you're home," He replies between gasps, his hands not leaving her for even a second. "I missed you!"

Della lets out a sound like a dying animal, half-shriek, half-cry, and she clutches the back of Donald's shirt so tight her fingers must hurt. "I'm sorry," She says, loud enough Scrooge can hear her clearly. "I'm sorry I left you, it wasn't worth it, I'm sorry I ever even designed that ship!"

"It's okay, Della. It's okay. You're home, that's all I care about right now." Donald presses a kiss to her temple and rocks a little more, back and forth and back and forth, like Scrooge recalls him clearly doing whenever Della would get hurt on an adventure when they were young.

Scrooge tears his eyes away from his twins when he hears a loud sniffle from next to him. And then another. And two more, almost identical.

He looks over, only to see all four kids-- even Webby-- crying as well. Louie has his hands over his face and is hiccuping little sobs into his sleeves, while Huey and Dewey are holding onto eachother's hands tightly and soundlessly crying. And Webby stands between the triplets, her hands clasped tight in the end of her skirt, a smile on her face despite the tears streaming through her feathers.

Dirt crunches under Della and Donald's feet as they approach. Della still has that wildness in her eyes, a kind of manic hysteria, but she's walking on her own. Her hand is interlocked with Donald's own, just as it was all those years ago when they first stood in the doorway of the manor.

Scrooge smiles at her, his own eyes moist despite his best attempts not to cry. "Della," He greets, voice soft.

Della grins at him, wiping tears on her arm. "H-hey, Uncle Scrooge." She says, and lets go of Donald just to step forward and wrap her arms around Scrooge's neck. Her feathers and clothes feel gritty with dirt. She feels too thin, like she hasn't eaten a real meal in years (and, of course, she hasn't) and her bones feel prominent when he hugs her.

But regardless, she's back in his arms again.

Scrooge lets out a laugh that's almost a sob and he hugs Della hard.

"'M sorry," she says into his coat. "I'm sorry I took the Spear."

"It's okay." He says into her hair. And that's all they need to say, at least for now, because Della pulls away, her eyes drifting to the children.

She steps away from Scrooge, looking down at her boys and Webby. The look on her face is curious, happy, light as the spring breeze.

Dewey hiccups once and meets her eyes. They share just a moment of silence, before he launches forward and hugs her tight around the middle. "Mom!" He cries, voice high and sharp.

Della kneels down, both flesh and metal hitting the ground, wrapping her son tightly in her arms. Huey and Louie come forward as well, hugging her from opposite sides. She buries her face in Dewey's fluffy hair, clutches Huey's shirt in one hand, wraps an arm tight around Louie.

"Boys," She mumbles, voice breaking. "Oh, boys."

That seems to be all it takes for Scrooge to break a little himself. He finds himself covering his bill with one hand and closing his eyes tightly, tears falling without his full permission. He doesn't expect it when Donald and Webby both hug him, both in tears themselves, but he should have. They seem just as broken up by the display as he does.

Della pulls from the embrace and looks her sons over. "Oh my goodness, look at you three." She says, raising a hand to cup Dewey's cheek. "Now, you look just like me." Dewey grins, pride filling his eyes. She moves onto Louie. "And I bet you're the charmer, aren't you?"

Louie tries to smile, though tearfully, and nods his head. "Mhm."

"That's my boy," She says, leaning in to kiss his forehead. She turns to Huey, looking him over. She grins brightly, her free hand resting on his shoulder. "And you're the oldest, yeah?"

He nods. "By five minutes for Dewey, and-and almost an hour for Louie." He gives a little, shaky proud smile. "Mom, I-- I never thought I'd actually get to meet you."

Della's smile trembles at the corners. "I'm sorry I ever left." She says, voice falling into a hush. "I... I regret it, you know. I wish I would've been here for you boys, a-and for Donald. And I don't expect you to forgive me right away, or be comfortable with me as your mom." She sniffles once. "But... but for what it's worth, I'm going to try my best to make up for lost time."

There's a long moment of silence, where there's only sniffling and the remains of tears to populate the silence.

Louie's brow twitches down, and he takes just a step back. Just one, but it seems to be a lot for Della, who flinches as if struck across the face. "I just..." He starts, seemingly confused. "I just want to know why you did it. Why did you leave? Why did you leave us and go into space, wh-when you had so much good here?"

Della opens her bill to reply, but Louie isn't finished. He rubs his eye with a sleeve-covered fist. "I don't get it. You-- you chased adv-adventure instead of us. We grew up without either of our parents, we don't even know who our real dad is--" He draws in a deep breath, "We were the weird orphan kids who lived with our uncle. We didn't have a chance at normal childhood, because you weren't h-here." He kicks a rock on the ground and shoves his hands in his pockets. He considers his next words for a tense moment. "...As far as I-I'm concerned, you're not my mom."

Della inhales sharply. Tears well in her eyes. "Louie..." She says, voice trailing off.

Louie swallows audibly and turns on his heel, practically running over to Donald and hugging him tight around the waist, hiding his face in his shirt. Without a moment's pause, seemingly used to this, Donald leans down and picks the youngest triplet up, holding him close.

Della stares at the ground for a long moment. No one says a word.

"I... I think that's fair, actually." She says, standing up. "If I didn't have a mom for my entire childhood and was raised by someone else, I think I'd be pretty hesitant to welcome her back if she suddenly showed up." She brushes her hands on her jacket, seeming to try and feign calmness. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first au drabble babes! this is set in my *runaway moon* au, which, in short, an au where della isn't a great person. it's very fun. very depressing. 
> 
> warning for discussions of child abandonment!

“Hey, boys.” Donald says, somewhat wary, as he leans on the doorway of the triplets' bedroom. “Can I come in?” 

“Yeah.” Dewey says. Huey doesn’t look up from the book he’s pretending to read, and Louie is nothing but a green lump under the blankets on the bottom bunk. 

Donald picks his way across the room, avoiding dirty laundry and toys and books. He grabs the desk chair and turns it to face the bed, sitting down and clasping his hands on his lap. “So… Scrooge told you about your mom?” 

Silence. Not even a sound of affirmation. Honestly, the silence is an answer in of itself. A wordless kind of misery is sitting over the room. 

“I’m sorry I never told you the truth.” Donald stares out the window. It’s a clear night, and he can see the moon, the stars. The very things that tempted Della from them. “I… you’re all so young, and you didn’t need to have that on your heads. God knows I had a hard enough time, and I’m an adult…” 

Fabric shifts, the bed creaks once, and when Donald peers up, he can see Louie, sitting in a little ball on his bed. 

“Why didn’t she want us?” 

And oh, does that break Donald’s heart. 

“I don’t know, Louie. I really don’t.” He says, as honest and sincere, full of love, as he can. “Della… she wasn’t ever the kind to be tied down in any way. Always running off, always busy, dating different people, trying new things…” 

Huey slaps his book closed. Donald and his brothers flinch. “She was _selfish_.” He spits the words. “She didn’t want us. She ran away instead of raising us.”

Donald is horrified to realize that Huey sounds like _him_, seven or so years ago, spitting venom in Scrooge’s face– “_accept she was selfish, even more than you, she abandoned her kids, she didn’t want them_!”– and it breaks his heart. No one should have to deal with what he’s dealing with. With what all three of them are dealing with. 

The worst part is that Huey is right.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no warnings apply! 
> 
> (also, donald is trans. it isn't obvious here but the reason he cuts his hair often/mentions having to grow his hair out is bc Trans Dude)

"Hey Donnie, can you cut my hair?"

Donald blinks hard and looks up from his sketchbook, confused. "What?" He asks, brows furrowing. "Della, you don't need a haircut."

Della frowns and sits across from him on the bed, tucking her legs up to her chest. "Yeah, I do!" she says passionately. "My hair is too long."

"Never bothered you before," Donald mumbles, twirling his pencil between his fingers. "I'm not going to cut your hair. Uncle Scrooge would get mad at me."

His sister's frown transforms into a pout. "But you know how to! You cut your hair all the time, right?"

Donald throws his sketchbook aside and promptly clamps a hand over Della's bill. "Della!" he hisses, as scoldingly as an eight year old can. "Uncle Scrooge doesn't KNOW I cut my own hair. He'd probably take my scissors if I did, and then where will I be?" When Della blinks in confusion, he rolls his eyes. "I'd have to spend my allowance on haircuts, and I have more important things to save up for."

"Like that guitar?" Della mumbles through her brother's hand. A devious look overtakes her eyes, and she bats his hand away. "Oh, it'd sure be a shame if Uncle Scrooge found out you've been giving yourself haircuts... you'd never get that guitar you want..." She leans back on one hand.

Donald gives her a deadpan look. "What are you planning?"

Della twirls a strand of long hair around her index finger, as casually as possible. "I dunno... I miiight just tell our dear uncle that someone's been cutting his own hair for the past two years... and that someone won't ever get that guitar he's been saving for..." She gives Donald a cunning look.

The deadpan glare turns into a look of mild horror. "...You wouldn't." He says, crossing his arms over his chest. "You don't have the guts."

Della raises her eyebrow, and hops off the bed, running to the door and flinging it open. "Oh Uncle Scrooge!" she calls, teasingly.

With a panicked "wak!" and a stumble onto the floor, Donald throws himself at his sister and knocks her to the carpet, putting both his hands over her mouth. "No!" he half-screeches, slamming their door shut with his shoulder. "Okay, fine, I'll cut your stupid hair! You are not sabotaging me, Della!"

Della grins behind his hands. "Hah!" She says victoriously, before licking Donald's hand and wiggling out from under him. "Victory for Della Duck!"

"Don't make me bite you." Donald says, flatly, wiping his hand on Della's jacket. "Come on."

The two of them sit on the floor between their beds, effectively hiding them from view of the door, and Donald pulls a box from below his bed.

Muttering in annoyance, he flips it open and pulls out a pair of shiny hair scissors. "Alright. How short do you want it?" He asks, turning to his sister and opening and closing the scissors somewhat threateningly.

Della waves at the spot just below her jaw. "Right... here." She says confidently.

Donald looks at her critically. "That's really short, Della." He says. "What if Uncle Scrooge gets angry your hairs' so short? Mom would..."

"Well, Mom's not here, and Uncle Scrooge doesn't really care about my hair." Della says, with the same unwavering confidence. "Just do it, Donnie."

Donald shrugs. "Eh, it's your funeral." He says with too much joy, and grabs hold of Della's hair. He hums a jolly tune as he snips away at her hair, taking it from just below her shoulders to barely at her jaw.

"Y'know, your bangs are gonna do something stupid if I cut 'em this short." He says, cutting at the ends of her bangs. "Is that okay with you?"

"Yeeep." Della drawls, eyes closed in delight. "I already feel better. Do you know how HOT long hair is? Ughhh."

Donald rolls his eyes. "Ugh, I know. Remember when Mom made me grow my hair out and kept putting it in curlers and stuff? It looked terrible and it was so HOT!"

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy!


End file.
